


Party Fowl

by R_Knight



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: (sort of), Bets & Wagers, Bisexuality, Commune, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gay Chicken, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Mutual Pining, Obliviousness, Pining, Public Displays of Affection, Romantic Friendship, What's the opposite of a slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-21 08:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Knight/pseuds/R_Knight
Summary: “Never. You are both, okay, admittedly tolerable as straight men–”“Gee, thanks,” Tommy said.“But. It doesn’t preclude you – both of you, from being, like, inherently no homo. You can’t help it! It’s how you’re, y’know, programmed. Born this way etcetera. You wear khakis, you enjoy the color beige, you are uncomfortable with platonic affection. Facts of heterosexual life.”





	Party Fowl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gdgdbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/gifts).



> Gdgdbaby - thank you for such a thorough author's letter, I hope that this silly little thing is in line with what you wanted! I obviously saw your gay chicken prompt and extremely ran with it (although really I could have gone with any of those prompts, they were all great), but I hope the inclusion of other partners was okay within this prompt since you mentioned commune fic being okay.
> 
> Thank you to the person who gave this a read-through and encouragement, you know who you are. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Lovett**

Lovett was a little hazy on where it all started. It could have been with the third drink, the fourth shot of the night. It could have been with him sliding unceremoniously over Tommy’s thighs so that he could get into the booth between him and Jon, gathering their attention as was his right as a citizen, as a co-founder, as the funniest friend, whatever.

Maybe it started like this though:

Lovett was making an entirely valid point, a point that had taken another shot and at least three emphatic palm slaps to the table to make - regretful if only because each time his hand had stuck a little to the alcohol that coated the table – when Jon had interrupted him with a disbelieving scoff.

“I think we’re pretty good with platonic affection, Lovett,” he said. He was attempting a tone both reasonable and bemused, but ended up sounding closer to drunk and drunk. Lovett couldn’t quite remember when or why they had decided to get this level of wrecked, but he had suspicions that it was something to do with Travis and ‘old boring people’ jokes.

Tommy, slightly less drunk, offered a sage nod. Lovett squawked.

“ _Never_. You are both, okay, admittedly tolerable as straight men–”

“Gee, thanks,” Tommy said.

“ _But_. It doesn’t pre _clude_ you – both of you, from being, like, inherently no homo. You can’t help it! It’s how you’re, y’know, programmed. Born this way etcetera. You wear khakis, you enjoy the color beige, you are uncomfortable with platonic affection. Facts of heterosexual life.”

“I don’t think that’s quite–” Jon started, but Lovett ignored him and the pointed look he shared with Tommy.

“You can’t lie! We’ve known each other how long? And we never touch unless it’s required of the situation. Even then _barely,_ ” Lovett said, trying not to sound _too_ smug. Winning argument, thank you very much.

Except then Tommy widened his eyes in something like disbelief or outrage, his cheeks going pink – pinker, even. “That’s because _you_ don’t like touching! Me and Jon hug all the time. This is a _you_ thing Lovett.”

“Because I’m _gay._ ”

“No, because you’d probably _bite_ us if we tried to hug you for longer than two seconds.”

Lovett mulled that over. He was a little jealous that they were apparently having private hugging sessions together, even if Tommy was completely right in that he wouldn’t actually want that at all. He wasn’t even that far off about the biting – Lovett had fought dirty in the past, when people tried to force affection on him. He couldn’t let Jon and Tommy know that though. He couldn’t back down now, couldn’t let them _win_.

So here, it probably started like this: with him, drunk off his ass, squirming around in their booth until he could settle himself firmly, heavily, somewhat grumpily, in Jon’s lap. He was surprisingly comfortable, all things considered. Less pointy than expected.

Even as Jon asked, “what are you _doing_?” he was already wrapping his arms around Lovett’s waist, tugging him closer, more firmly against his chest. Tommy was ever more pink, giggling silently.

“Nothing, since you guys are _so_ chill and cool and normal about physical affection I just figured you wouldn’t mind me sitting here,” Lovett said imperiously, trying not to startle when Jon pressed his nose against his neck, breath warm and sugary.

“Ohhh, okay, sure. This isn’t you trying to scare my delicate heterosexual sensibilities at _all_.”

“Nope,” Lovett said, popping the P. He refrained from saying anything else though, because he was dealing both with the realization that this was actually pretty comfortable, and also how stupidly well Jon – how well they were _both_ taking this. Clearly he had conditioned them far too successfully into accepting his antics, because this wasn’t proving his point at all.

So Lovett stayed where he was, wrapped up in Jon’s sweaty, drunk, very warm arms for the rest of the night, plotting and grumbling and trying to ignore the way that Jon had started gently stroking his thumb over the little patch of visible skin between his shirt and his pants, and the way Tommy had slid into the seat that Lovett had vacated, inching his way into Lovett’s – Lovett’s and _Jon’s_ personal space, because it was very much one combined thing at this point.

And, okay, he failed somewhat at the ignoring, but managed to make it through the last of their evening, spilling himself into their shared Uber and getting home in relatively one piece, where he passed out in his bed with only the barest of thoughts spared for his future self, who was going to have to deal with both a raging hangover and the emotional fall out from tonight. Poor him.

*

The hangover was just as horrific as predicted, when morning came, but at least they’d had the foresight to drink on a Saturday, so Lovett didn’t have to deal with work nor the expressions that would grace Jon and Tommy’s faces when they so smugly reminded him of how tolerant and accepting they were of touch and how wrong Lovett was. Well, not if Lovett had anything to say about it. Somewhere between his third and fifth iced coffee of the day Lovett realized that he couldn’t let them get away with it - they were drunk yesterday, so of _course_ they wouldn’t care as much about touching another man without consequences, but in the sober light of day, they surely wouldn’t be as comfortable or as willing. Surely not.

*

Except, as it turned out, Lovett had underestimated their willingness to go along with him. He arrived on Monday morning newly resolved and with a carefully crafted plan that mostly involved touching them as much as possible until one or both of them broke, only for them to seemingly happily and thoughtlessly go along with whatever work-place inappropriate touching that Lovett doled out for them. Lovett set aside his own feelings about touching in pursuit of his goal, but so far it seemed like he’d done it for nothing.

To begin with, rather than nod or half-wave at them in acknowledgement that morning, Lovett had gone in for full-body hugs, pressing up on his tiptoes and holding his hands dangerously low for long enough that _he_ was feeling a little uncomfortable about it, and the both of them had not only hugged him back, but Jon had pressed his own cheek gently against Lovett's hair and Tommy had _squeezed_ him. Neither of them looked anything but a little bemused when he pulled back, and the joke was fully on Lovett, because then he felt obliged to hug Dan, who had come by for a few days, and who, after their own weird and uncomfortable hug, probably wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. Thankfully he didn’t do anything but stand awkwardly with his hands at his sides while Lovett did his thing, because the other two were bad enough.

Neither Tommy nor Jon made any mention of Lovett’s new morning routine for the rest of the day, and Lovett came to the conclusion that he really was right about conditioning them. They’d been around him too long, and even if he wasn’t usually the hugging type, he _was_ the type that demanded both attention and indulgence from his friends, and they probably figured this was the newest iteration of the fact. The next stage in a relationship that mostly involved sighing before ultimately going along with whatever Lovett asked.

But their tolerance could only go _so_ far though. There had to be a point where their natural inclination to avoid physicality that wasn’t explicitly heterosexual would outweigh their lenience toward Lovett, and to _win_ , Lovett just had to find that point, and bowl right through it.

*

In lieu of carefully crafting a plan of attack, Lovett decided to call Ronan.

“So you’re – hold on, this isn’t your way of telling me that you’re trying to sleep with them both, is it?”

“ _What_ –”

“Not that I wouldn’t be okay with that!” Ronan insisted earnestly, “you know I’d support any decision that lead to that particular threesome–”

“I mean, I _didn’t_ know that.”

“I’m just saying,” Ronan continued, ignoring him, “that maybe there are better ways than, sort of, gay chicken-ing them into it.”

Lovett scoffed. “I’m not _gay chickening_ them into having sex with me. I just want them to admit that they aren’t always perfectly comfortable with behaviors that might be construed as not straight.”

“Have you thought about the possibility that they might actually not care?”

“Well, sure,” Lovett lied, “but I think it’s more likely that I’ve unintentionally given them Stockholm syndrome and now they think that the only way to appease me is to go along with anything I do to them.”

“And that’s…better?” Ronan ventured.

“That’s not the point. The point is that everyone has a _breaking_ point, and I need to find it, and I need you to help me figure out what is the most likely thing to push them over the edge.”

“Right, well. For the record I think this is a bad idea–”

“Noted.”

“–and I’m pretty sure what you think will happen at the breaking point and what will _actually_ happen are going to be wildly different things, but since you’re going to do it anyway, I may as well help you.”

“ _Thank_ you. I got as far as ‘petting’ and my brain went blank. What other things do touchy people do?”

*

Lovett ended up with an overly detailed checklist of things written in the notes app on his phone, and armed with that and a go-getter attitude, set about in his Plan To Win. Ronan had pointed out at during their call that his win wouldn’t be legitimate if Tommy and Jon didn’t know that they were in a competition, but Lovett thought that made it _more_ fair if anything. If they thought that this was just a new thing Lovett was trying, rather than a campaign to prove his rightness, then their reactions would be more truthful than if they knew and were holding out just to prove Lovett _wrong_. He had no illusions that their ignorance would last forever, but he hoped that they would break before they realized why exactly Lovett had become so clingy and desperate for attention. More desperate for attention.

Mostly Lovett just hoped that he could end this before everyone at Crooked was convinced that he’d lost his mind. Honestly, all he’d done so far was a little hugging, some perching on knees and gentle arm stroking, and already the interns were giving him wide berths and concerned glances. It was a _little_ insulting that they were so vehemently against Lovett’s touch, but mostly he was glad that he didn’t have to make excuses about not including anyone else in his newfound obsession with groping. Also with aggressively sexual compliments and unrestrained flirting, but maybe that part wasn’t so different to his usual behavior, not when it came to Jon and Tommy at least. Ronan had insisted that it was the accumulative efforts that would lead to his inevitable win though, so with that in mind, Lovett did the best he could to get them flustered.

The snag in _that_ plan was that Jon and Tommy were bizarre pod people who apparently _enjoyed_ being flustered. Lovett could only witness so many blushing faces before he lost it; the flirting clearly embarrassed them, hands on lower backs and pressing his body in close when sharing a sofa _certainly_ did, but none of which lead to him being shoved away. There were no gentle protests, no awkward suggestions that Lovett maybe not put his hand there, maybe not joke about being the soft cream cheese pressed between the gently toasted bagel slices that were his friends. If anything, they were encouraging him. Tommy would giggle his way through his flustered blushing, and Jon would lean into the touches in a way that was decidedly _not_ chill.

At every turn Lovett’s attempts were met soundly and thoroughly with easy acceptance, pink cheeks notwithstanding. Lovett hit the end of his proverbial rope when they went out for dinner on a Friday, and in an attempt to do _something_ that would at least keep them on their toes, asked if they wanted to share a dessert when both Emily and Hanna had passed. _Yes_ they had both replied to him. _The sundae sounds like a great idea_ Tommy said. _Here, try this bit,_ Jon added later, holding a spoonful of cherry ice cream and whipped cream that he apparently expected Lovett to take from him in front of god, the restaurant patrons, their _wives_. Lovett hated them both, hated himself for doing this, but leaned forward to take the spoonful with as much grace as he could manage anyway.

He’d been beaten _again_. Not only at his own game, but by someone who didn’t even know that they were playing. 

 

**Tommy**

Lovett had excused himself for the bathroom while they were ordering more wine for the table, and the dead silence that followed would have been accusing in itself, but the twin looks of bemusement and disbelief from the girls really cemented it. To his left, Jon groaned.

“So…this is new,” Hanna said slowly. Tommy felt his face heating up yet again, and wondered despairingly if it was too difficult an ask of the universe that he not give himself away so completely via his face for once.

“The ice cream–” Jon started, but Emily interrupted him.

“The _Lovett_. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so touchy.”

“I think he’s touched you guys more tonight than the rest of the time I’ve known you combined,” Hanna added, quickly downing the last of her wine. “So spill. If you guys are starting a _thing_ with Lovett now, we want the details.”

“We’re not – uh – he doesn’t–” Jon stuttered, and Tommy could guess how that particular sentence ended. _He_ doesn’t but _I do_. They’d already had this conversation: a little stilted, a lot embarrassing, the both of them awkwardly stumbling through the confirmation that Lovett wasn’t genuine in his affections, that he was clearly just proving a point, but that it wasn’t quite _nothing_ for either of them. Wasn’t quite platonic. Two perfect idiots, stuck between the rock that was their feelings and the hard place that was Lovett deciding to torment them both in pursuit of a winning argument.

“He’s trying to prove a point,” Tommy said wearily, fighting the urge to avoid both their gaze, “that straight men aren’t comfortable with platonic affection.”

“But you aren’t–” Hanna started. At the same time Emily made an outraged sound in her throat.

“You said you _told_ him,” she said accusingly, although her glare was lost on Jon, his face hidden in his hands. He let out a long groan.

“We _did_ ,” he said, his voice muffled, “but we were drunk and it was sort of jumbled and he didn’t _remember_.” Tommy realized then exactly what Jon was referring to. A night on the road, a hotel room, three hotel mini-bars worth of alcohol scattered across a double bed – and the three of them, giggling through descriptions of the men they had kissed before, an embarrassing memory in itself, but worse still for the fact that Lovett had either not taken it seriously or truly forgotten everything they had said that night.

“Well aren’t you two a pair,” Hanna said unsympathetically, adding, “I’m guessing you haven’t told him about your _inappropriate_  feelings then?” She mimicked Tommy’s voice as she said it, but her smile lessened the harshness of it – she knew how hard it had been for him to realize that the feelings he had about both Jon and Lovett weren’t as platonic as he thought, she’d been there while he agonized over it, been there to reassure him that it was _fine_ , that _they’d never been one-person kind of people anyway, had they._ She’d said something ridiculous and embarrassing like ‘having too much love to give’, that had made him blush white-hot, but she was right. Hanna and Emily had been something for almost as long as he and Hanna had, and that was never an issue for him.

Just because he hadn’t been with anyone else while with Hanna didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about it, and since the realization about Jon and Lovett – since the simultaneous discovery that Jon was having his own minor crisis, too – he’d been thinking about it even more. He and Jon had sort of messed around a little, absolutely had during the White house days, but the both of them invariably ended up talking about Lovett or the girls and that was never conducive for a good fuck. Sad sacks, the both of them.

Tommy didn’t get to answer her though, didn’t tell her that of _course_ they hadn’t told Lovett, of course they hadn’t irreparably damaged their relationship and potentially their company by confessing feelings to a man who, if the past few days were anything to go by, certainly didn’t reciprocate, and who also had a long-term partner that was almost literally perfect. He would have to save it for later, because that was when Lovett came back to the table, cheerful and oblivious and a perfect fucking menace.

 

**Lovett**

Obviously, it was time to up the ante. Time to break out the big guns. Time for some kissing. Ronan had laughed until he cried when he tried to plan out the logistics of kisses, so Lovett was just going to have to wing it. No need for a pre-morning kiss pep talk, because Lovett was confident and assured and definitely going to win with this.

Except: wrong again apparently, because when Lovett leaned in to give Jon what was becoming a customary hug, he also pressed a brief but firm kiss to Jon’s cheek, making him go a little pink, which was _sort_ of a win, but he otherwise only smiled and gently disentangled himself in order for Lovett to then go to Tommy. Not even in like, an offended way. Just accepting of the fact, and also knowing that Lovett would then be doling out the same thing for Tommy. Tommy, who upon receiving his own kiss, offered the other cheek, like they were going continental or something. Jesus.

Gently holding their faces while leaving lingering kisses on their cheeks didn’t do anything either; neither did being aggressively cutesy and kissing their noses or foreheads, nor curling his arms around their necks and staring for an uncomfortably long time beforehand. It was as inexplicable as it was maddening. Increasingly angry at their lack of reaction, Lovett spent his mornings stomping about with a sort of resigned frustration. What was _with_ them. Everyone else at Crooked was _clearly_ aware of how weird they were being – and it was they, not just Lovett, because their passive acceptance of Lovett’s behavior made them just as guilty – so it was _weird_ that they didn’t think that this was weird.

Lovett went into the office, still stewing in his thoughts, and maybe it was that he was already thinking about it, but when he was confronted with both of their stupid earnest smiles at his arrival, he ended up – in a fit of frustrated insanity, not guilty your honor – pressing a very firm closed-mouth kiss to Tommy’s own, moving around the table to do the same to Jon, and then stomping his way over to his seat for the podcast. And still – nothing. It wasn’t like Lovett expected them to leap away, or god forbid, kiss back, but this was ridiculous.

“Hello Tommy, hello Jon, how are you? Oh good Lovett thank you for asking, how about you?” Tommy said into the silence, continuing in a whiny imitation of Lovett’s voice, “Well, I’m in a snit about something and I won’t tell anyone because I want to wallow in it.”

Lovett glowered at his stupid, pretty face. At both of their stupid pretty faces, and their perpetually earnest expressions and their absolutely incredible lack of a reaction to the fact that Lovett just kissed them both on the mouth, something that he initially thought might have been too far. But no, of course it wasn’t. This was no longer an experiment into their lack of a no homo gene so much as a very real concern that Lovett may have actually accidentally Stockholm syndromed them somewhere during their friendship, and now they would do whatever he wanted. Except that _wasn’t_ true, or they wouldn’t laugh and ignore him whenever he tried to make them go to his favorite pho place because it had given him food poisoning only _twice_.

So, okay, this wasn’t about winning anymore for Lovett. This wasn’t about seeing when they would _break_ , but instead about how far he could _push_ them. How far he could go, how much they would let him do. There was a small, but very key difference, no matter what Ronan insisted otherwise. The answer to his questions though – the surprisingly quickly answered thesis to his experiment, turned out to be: pretty far. Quite a lot. Before Lovett knew it he had kissed them hello enough times that one morning when he arrived and they were both sat on a sofa reading their respective but essentially identical twitter feeds, Tommy tilted his head up for it, not even looking away from his phone, just waiting, and Jon was looking up at him, patiently waiting for Lovett to get to him too, face open and sweet and Lovett –

Lovett had like, a rage blackout or something, because the next thing he knew Tommy was making a surprised sound in his throat, Lovett had his hand on Tommy’s cheek, and his tongue was very much _in_ _Tommy’s mouth_. Lovett thought absently that if they weren’t all their own bosses he would be due for a serious sexual harassment talk, but they were and so he wouldn’t, and also Tommy was kissing back. Tommy was very enthusiastically kissing back, and Lovett had to break apart because _what_.

He couldn’t look at Tommy, didn't want to see whatever expression must be on his face, so he turned to Jon, who had his head tilted back a little, ready and open, with that obvious emotion on his face that he never hid, and oh fuck - what the hell. Lovett kissed him. One of Jon’s hands came up to Lovett’s hip, holding him steady as they licked into each other’s mouths, and wow wasn’t that interesting, to be able to catalog all the differences and similarities between them, the way Tommy was a little rougher, a little sharper compared to Jon’s pliability and the easy way he let Lovett take charge - but that they both moaned a little. _This is so gross_ Lovett thought absently as he finally pulled away from Jon, _we’re all gonna get the flu if we keep doing this_.

“Good morning,” Lovett said breathlessly. And then he turned to go literally anywhere that wasn’t here, almost bumping into Travis, who stepped swiftly out of the way, looking a little wild around the eyes – probably concerned Lovett was going to accost him next.

“You go to Europe _one_ time,” Travis marveled. Lovett didn’t hear Tommy’s quiet response as he made his exit, feeling a little shocky, a little like he was under water. Why did he _do_ that. And more importantly, why the hell did they _let_ him.

*

“They _have_ to know.”

“I hate it when you get like this,” Ronan said, only half serious. They were face-timing in bed, the only real time Ronan tended to be free to do so, and he was not being remotely sympathetic to Lovett’s plight.

“Like I’m reasonably outraged to discover that my friends are conspiring against me?”

“Like you’re being purposefully obtuse. Like you’re three diet cokes away from jumping off a figurative bridge to prove a point.”

“What bridge?”

“Golden gate, obviously,” Ronan said, his mouth twitching. “You know what you’re doing though, right?”

“Of course,” Lovett said seriously, “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

*

Lovett obviously didn’t know what he was doing at all, but what he did know was that both Jon and Tommy knew, and that they clearly thought they were going to win this with their acquiescent passivity. But now that Lovett knew they knew – and hopefully they didn’t know he knew they knew, because it was doubtful that either of them remembered that episode of _Friends_ – they were on even playing ground. He could bring out the big guns, win the war, etcetera.

War, as it turned out, involved a surprising amount of kissing: morning kisses, evening kisses, goodbye and hello and _I’m going to get coffee what do you want_ kisses. Sometimes with tongue, sometimes not. Sometimes on the forehead or the cheek but mostly the mouth. Sometimes it felt like they were just kissing him to keep him on his toes – because of course they started taking initiative, started to really up the ante, touch him and compliment him and kiss _him_ almost as often as Lovett did them, which was patently unfair since there was two of them, so Lovett was getting twice the amount of affection. He was a grown man though, he could handle it. He could handle the way Tommy liked to curl his hands around Lovett’s jaw, the side of his neck when they kissed. He could handle the sweet little sounds that Jon would make in his throat, like he didn’t even know he was doing it. He could handle it, because he couldn’t be the first to break, not after going this far.

Everyone else at Crooked seemed to have a silent agreement not to mention any of it, thankfully, but Lovett knew that they’d noticed, because even without Priyanka’s very pointed raised eyebrows when she noticed that Tommy had grabbed Lovett’s ass when they hugged goodbye one night; even besides Elijah having to awkwardly cough at them to get their attention when Jon had leaned over mid-argument during an ad read to silence Lovett via a kiss which had got a little more heated than intended, and had ended with one of Tommy’s hands dangerously high up on Lovett’s thigh, Jon’s mouth plush and swollen, and all of them very, very disheveled.

Even besides _that_ , it wasn’t like they were subtle. They were kissing all over the office. They were hugging improbably often. Lovett was perching on laps, perching on the arms of chairs, perching on desks and dying a little on the inside when Tommy stood in front of him to talk seriously about an interview he was planning, worming his way between Lovett’s thighs absently and pressing in close to explain something that _should_ be boring if it were coming from anyone other than Tommy, but as it was – caught up in his closeness and his excitement and the easy warmth of him, Lovett couldn’t imagine not hanging off every word he said.

Which meant that Lovett was already verging on what could be quantified as _worked up_ when one of them, Lovett didn’t know which, hooked their foot around Lovett’s ankle mid live-stream, and Lovett ended up having to make thin excuses for why he practically launched himself out of his chair for no conceivable reason. So fine, they won that round, but the thing was – Lovett wasn’t sure what else he could do at this point. It was already ridiculous what they were doing, and bar maybe upping his blatent-flirting-on-twitter game or starting in on petnames, Lovett wasn’t sure what else he could do.

No normal person submitted to overly enthusiastic open-mouth kissing for the sake of an argument, so that meant the very premise of Lovett’s thesis, the foundation with which he based this fight – was faulty from the start. Neither of them would break, because they _weren’t_ your average straight man, and more fool Lovett for thinking so. The thought bothered him, stayed with him even through breakfast the following morning. So caught up in it, so obsessed with the idea that he really might have been wrong from the beginning, Lovett didn’t even notice the way he absentmindedly kissed Tommy on the mouth as he passed him, the way he scratched his fingertips through the hair at Jon’s nape and pecked him on the cheek while he stared intently at his phone.

Lovett didn’t notice at all, not until he sat down at his desk and took a sip of his ice coffee and – all of a sudden, like a fucking _anvil_ had hit him, he realized how much this wasn’t a game anymore. How much this affection was becoming habit, becoming little parts of his everyday that he did without even realizing, that Tommy and Jon didn’t seem to realize they were doing either, and Lovett needed to stop it all immediately before he got hurt, because the hugs and the kisses, the flirting and the gentle guiding touches and the affectionate gazes - not a single fucking part of it was platonic. Not at _all_.

So Lovett stopped all of it, all at once. He ignored the confused and strangely hurt expressions from Tommy and Jon in the days afterwards, ignored the concerned side-glances from the interns, because obviously they were conditioned into expecting it, all of them, so of course it would take them some getting used to, but it was fine. He was fine. Everything was definitely fine.

 

**Jon**

The third time Emily compared Jon to Leo when they wouldn't let him steal food from the table, it felt less like a joke so much as a pointed suggestion: you were an adult, you had opposable thumbs and the ability to regulate your emotions, sort of, so _do_ something about it. Jon tried his best not to mope, but ultimately his best shot at ‘doing something about it’ ended up being whining to Tommy about it while Lovett was recording LOLI one night.

“I just – don’t understand why he would _stop_ ,” Jon said plaintively, taking what little comfort he could in Tommy’s gentle hand on the back of his neck. Tommy took another swig of the beer he was nursing, humming contemplatively.

“I think he panicked. You’ve seen how miserable he looks right now. That isn’t the behavior of a man that just decided he didn’t care anymore.”

“So what do we _do_? I can’t go back to all that without it meaning something.”

Tommy sighed. “Well, he clearly isn’t going to do anything. I don’t know what’s going through his head but knowing Lovett it’s probably doesn't make sense,” he said, his fingers moving up to scratch at the base of Jon’s skull. “We’ll just have to do something about it ourselves.”

“Mmm, and we’re on the same page? Both of us? Him?”

“Obviously. Ronan said before–”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Jon said, not an agreement so much as a request – thoroughly distracted - for Tommy to keep up with his scratching, his fingers trailing a little higher to grip at the hair that was just barely long enough to tug. “Yeah. We’ll sh-show him.”

Tommy huffed a laugh, setting down his beer on the coffee table and leaning in close. “You wanna fool around a little until the girls get home?”

“ _Please,_ ” Jon said, tilting his head up for a kiss.

 

That was how Emily and Hanna found them later, tangled up together and trading lazy kisses in between increasingly ridiculous suggestions for ways they could confess to Lovett. Tommy’s most recent idea had involved Obama and Lovett’s voicemail and a request that would probably get them permanently blacklisted from Washington.

“Oh good,” Emily said when they trailed into the living room, dogs at their heels. Both she and Hanna kicked off their shoes in tandem, setting down their shopping bags and coming over to join the boys on the sofa. “I’m guessing this is celebratory kissing? You’ve finally figured things out?”

She whooped happily when Jon nodded, and Hanna pressed a smacking kiss to Jon and Tommy both, but Jon couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed by it all, because he was surrounded by the people he loved, pressed up close and hemmed in the way he liked, and if everything went to plan – they’d have Lovett here soon too.

 

**Lovett**

Jon and Tommy were acting weird. Weird _er_ , because everything that had happened for the past few months was weird, but Lovett had thought that they were finally past that. He thought that maybe he’d escaped the nightmare that was the realization of feelings that he very much did not want to think about, but Jon and Tommy were making weirdly obvious eye contact and whispering about things to each other whenever they thought Lovett wasn’t looking. Lovett wasn’t exactly a subtle person himself, but honestly this was ridiculous. It was so painfully transparent that Lovett really shouldn’t have been surprised when they both invited themselves over one night with suspiciously blank expressions and Jon’s offer to _get pizza and uh, watch Netflix or something_. But he _was_ surprised though, because Jon's incredible eloquence notwithstanding, they hadn’t actually hung out properly in a while now.

Not since Lovett had stopped – everything, at least. But, whatever. They were friends. Friends hung out. This didn’t have to mean anything, and even if it did, well. Lovett could survive the conversation about his feelings. Really he could. Still, he did send off a frantic text to Ronan in the moments before they arrived, only receiving an  **it’ll be fine babe** text in response. Even the following **love you** didn’t make him feel much better, but he did send back a **you too** in response. They would have to talk about appropriate times to be the calm and reasonable boyfriend versus the times when he should be passively agreeing that Lovett was one hundred percent justified in his spiraling, though.

When Lovett finally heard them shuffling in through his door, talking in low voices and stripping their jackets and shoes, he was something approaching calm, so he didn’t immediately panic when they came in, said hi to Pundit where she was curled up on the love seat, and then immediately planted themselves either side of him on the sofa. There was no awkward pauses though, no weird shuffling or careful placing of thighs so as not to touch other thighs – they just threw themselves down as thoughtlessly as they would have prior to the whole … _thing_ , and started regaling him with a story of a very weird fan they had run into while getting pizza.

It was – fine. It was _normal_. The both of them seemed at ease, settled on either side of him to watch whatever Netflix show they weren’t actually watching because they were too busy talking about whatever the newest fights were on the twitter timeline, but it helped Lovett relax too, for a little while. That is, until he noticed that they weren’t just distracted from the television by talking, but by _Lovett_. Every time he turned to either of them, mid-rant about whatever topic they’d moved on to, they were just _staring_ at him, which was not only a little unnerving, but also incredibly distracting - to have someone very pointedly watching your hands or your mouth or your profile while you tried to make an extremely salient point about the increasing prevalence of fruits being put into salads (ie: not where they should be).

Lovett was just starting to think that he might actually be the subject of a slow-reveal intervention when he lent over Tommy to grab his drink from the side table and Tommy just – kissed him. Intercepted him before he could reach it and instead grabbed Lovett’s face firmly in both hands and fucking _kissed him_. And Lovett didn’t pull away, didn’t even think to, because he was shocked, okay, when confronted with Tommy and Tommy’s big hands and the wet press of his tongue, who wouldn’t just go along with whatever was asked of them? But it turned out to be a mistake, because then there was a hand on his back, sliding up under his shirt and stroking over his spine, and it must've been Jon, because Tommy’s hands were both busy holding Lovett’s face, thumbs stroking gently over his cheeks. And then Jon’s _other_ hand was sliding around his hip, a replica of what he did way back when Lovett first sat himself down in his lap in the bar months ago now, except this time his hand went lower, fingers brushing over his abdomen and the light hair on his belly, and then he was tucking his fingers under Lovett’s waistband, trailing the tips of them over Lovett’s hardening dick.

It made Lovett startle, and he pulled back from Tommy, shoving Jon’s hands away. _What the fuck_.

“ _Okay_ , okay, I get it,” Lovett said shrilly, raising his hands in defeat, “I get it, you win the gay chicken, point made, you are both very woke and I’m sorry for doubting you, but you can’t just, you have to–”

“Oh my god _stop_ ,” Tommy said, shoving his hand over Lovett’s mouth. Lovett refrained from licking him and escaping their clutches so that he could run away forever, but only because Tommy looked sincerely concerned.

“This isn’t gay chicken Lovett. We aren’t trying to prove that we’re okay with our – masculinity, or whatever you think this has been. This is _us_ , me and Favs-” Tommy said slowly, breaking eye contact with him only briefly to look over his shoulder at Jon, who made a sound of agreement, “this is us propositioning you.”

“Mmf, you–” Lovett started, muffled, and Tommy took his hand away from his mouth. “ _Propositioning_?”

“It means we’re asking you to have sex with us and be sort of more than friends with us, Lovett,” Jon said from behind him. His hand had migrated back to Lovett’s side again, a comforting warmth. Lovett continued staring at Tommy for a little while, trying to figure out where to go from here. Trying to reconfigure everything he understood about the past few months. About their friendship entirely. About how Ronan had _clearly_ known what was going on and said nothing, but more fool him because now Lovett was never telling him what sex things he did with Jon and Tommy. Because there _was_ going to be. Sex things.

Thinking could come later.

*

Telling people about their relationship-not-relationship was an ultimately underwhelming affair. As it turned out, when you went around tongue kissing and fondling a person for a few months, people would sort of just assume the relationship thing, even if it was three of you. The general response to it all was, across the board, sighs of relief and exclamations of _thank god you’ve finally sorted out whatever argument you were having, it was almost as excruciating as the honeymoon faze_. Which was unfortunate for the interns, because now Lovett had discovered the little sounds that Jon could barely stifle when Lovett brushed up against the bruises that were hidden under his shirt, or how many dumb bits he could get away with on the pod depending on if he blew Tommy before hand – well, he wasn’t going to stop, was the point.

Even Dan, who really should have known better, was surprised when they told him the truth.

“Then what the hell have you guys been doing for the past two months?” he said over Skype, the laptop screen perfectly framing his expression of disbelief.

“Lovett was gay chickening us,” Jon said quickly before Lovett could answer, and Tommy nodded gleefully in agreement.

“Uh, coming from the guys that _Netflix and_ _chilled_ me into having a threesome,” Lovett protested, although his point was probably lost on Dan, who had sort of disappeared from the frame, the tinny sound of his laughter filtering through the laptop speakers.

Not that Lovett cared all that much. By the time Dan had recovered enough to notice them and yell through the screen about _keeping it to themselves_ and  _Jesus, you’re like teenagers, thank god Kyla’s a girl_ , Lovett had already been thoroughly distracted from any resulting arguments by the both of them, pressing in close.

**Author's Note:**

> It was so hard not to quote 'you construct intricate rituals [...]' in this, you don't even know. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Happy holidays everyone :)


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